


A Study In Living With Sherlock Holmes

by AllesandraQ



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A Study in Pink, Angst, Drama, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Language, Other, PTSD, Violence, allusions to drug use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-10-21
Updated: 2012-01-14
Packaged: 2017-10-24 20:35:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/267625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllesandraQ/pseuds/AllesandraQ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson moves into 221B Baker Street after the events of 'A Study In Pink'. He had no idea what he would be in for, living with an eccentric genius like Sherlock Holmes, but if the first twenty four hours are anything to go by, then he knows he's in for a ride. Spoilers for <b>A Study In Pink<b></b></b></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The First Day

**Author's Note:**

> A timeline that was created by an sharp viewer showed there is nearly two months in time between **A Study In Pink** and **The Blind Banker.** 51 days in fact. Here is what I like to think took place in those days.

  
**The First Day**

 **Location: 221B Baker St**

 **Date: January 31st, 2010**

 **Time: 2:30 pm**

  
 _Ugh. Sun._

He can't escape the bright light seeping into his brain.

Ultimately, John blinks his eyes open, and turns his head, trying to avoid the bright sun pouring through the windows.

This does not feel like his bed.

It feels like a sofa.

His heart starts to race.

Where am I?

He sits up quickly, not recognizing his surroundings.

"Afternoon," A deep baritone like voice rumbles from his right.

John blinks rapidly, trying to recognize the room and the voice and then suddenly everything crashes into place.

 _Sherlock Holmes._

 _Serial suicides._

 _Killer cabbie._

 _Sherlock about to swallow the pill._

 _Shooting the cabbie._

He shakes his head, as if getting the cobwebs out, and looks over to see Sherlock in a chair, on his laptop. Now he knows where he is. His heart calms down. Then something clicks.

No nightmares. Not one single nightmare.

Huh. He must have been quite exhausted. If that's what it takes to get through a night without those nightmares, then he'll start doing that.

"You were ready to pass out while we were eating chinese," Sherlock says not looking up.

"Adrenaline crash," John murmurs, rubbing his face.

"Most likely," Sherlock agrees. "Since you had not moved in yet, you fell asleep on the couch."

"What time is it?"

"Half past two."

"Did you get any sleep?"

"A little," Sherlock answers, and then looks up from the laptop. "I let you sleep late, figured your body was not used to what I am."

"No, no it's not, that is for sure," John admits, setting his feet on the floor, and stretching his arms, wincing a little at the tightness in his shoulder.

"So, do you still plan on moving in?"

John thinks on that. The last twenty four hours have been quite... insane almost. "It depends. Will living with you always be like it was like last night?"

"Hmmm, not always. But it is to be expected."

John wonders what the man does on his down time, in between cases. Well, he'll have plenty of time to find out.

"Yeah, I'll be moving in..I don't have much in my bedsit, just some clothes and my laptop.. but everything else is in storage." John sighs. "That's going to be a trip."

"How far away are your things?"

John tells him the address and he watches as Sherlock taps it into his laptop. As he does, he hears a knock on the door, which is open and has Mrs Hudson standing there.

"Oh, good, you're awake Doctor Watson." she steps further inside and sets down what looks to be a hot cup of tea, and then places one next to Sherlock.

"Thank you," John says warmly as he gratefully drinks from the cup, the tea helping him wake. He notices that Sherlock doesn't drink it, his attention on the laptop.

"Your welcome dear." She smiles at him warmly, and clasps her hands. "So are you indeed moving in John? I do hope last night's events did not put you off. Sherlock could use a flat mate."

John notices the small smile that appears on Sherlock as the man moves his attention from his laptop to his phone.

"Yes, I plan on it, I just have to find a way to get all my things here. And no, it didn't put me off."

Mrs Hudson beams. "Well that's good. Trust me, you won't get bored living with Sherlock. He won't let you."

John thinks that is probably true and judging from the smirk that momentarily graced Sherlock, so did he.

"Well, now you two have your tea, I'll go back to watching the telly. You two enjoy yourselves," she pats John on the cheek, and he flushes a little. She pats Sherlock's arm and then leaves.

"John if you want to freshen up here, you can do so, or when you get back to your bedsit. You have two hours before Allied Movers gets to your storage space."

John blinks. "I-- what?"

Sherlock looks at him, looking a bit annoyed about apparently having to explain himself. "I just arranged, " he holds up his mobile, "for Allied Movers to get your things, which will be in two hours. You'll have to meet them at your storage space. I imagine you would want to freshen up."

John just blinks at Sherlock, trying to keep up with this quick turn.

Sherlock frowns. "Really, John, are you always this slow when you wake up? Now you see why I don't sleep when on a case. Or eat. Slows the body and mind down."

Yes, John remembered that conversation. Sherlock also only ate a little bit at the Chinese place they went to.

He rubs his face again. "Just had a lot happen in twenty four hours. Mind hasn't completely caught up yet."

"Hmm, yes, I suppose it would seem like a lot happened. Either way, everything is set to get your things moved here."

"Did it rather quickly."

"Of course. The longer you wait to move in, the more you may rethink about doing so. The more you rethink about doing so, you will end up changing your mind and I will have to find another flatmate. All rather bothersome." Sherlock says all of this without looking up as he's responding to a text on his mobile.

"I imagine you have to go to Scotland Yard to give your account on what has happened?" John asks as he stands.

"Already did so."

John nods and takes a couple steps forward, his leg buckling under him and he quickly grabs the desk near him to keep himself upright.

It's in your head. In your head. You had no trouble running with Sherlock last night.

John lets the memory of running after that taxi run through his mind, forcing it to replay...

 _"Hurry John! We're losing him!"_

John's leg straightens, and the phantom pain is gone.

"Next to my bedroom," Sherlock comments. "Past the kitchen."

John grimaces as he goes into said kitchen. Counters, table, everything has stuff on it. And none of it is food. A few boxes on the counters, evidently more things that Sherlock had not unpacked yet.

He goes down the small hall, passing a bedroom from the looks of it, although he doesn't see much and goes into the small wash room.

As he closes the door, John leans against it.

So, this is the beginning of a new life.

Have to admit, he much prefers this beginning compared to what the original beginning of his civilian life started out as.

Due to training, John doesn't take long in the shower. The hot water feels good on his body, and his shoulder does not ache for once. Normally it's a dull ache, reminding him of what happened.

When he's done and dries off, he's reminded rather unfortunately he doesn't have a fresh change of clothes, so he simply puts his clothes on from last night, telling himself he can change when he gets to his bedsit.

He walks out of the bathroom and walks carefully through the kitchen, before successfully getting into the main room without sending anything on the table to the floor. Sherlock was still there, engrossed on his laptop. John could see he is on his website.

Going over to the couch, he spots a few of his things laying down on the small coffee table. His wallet mainly one of them. And his gun. He grimaces as he checks it, noticing the safety was not on.

Bloody careless. He's unsure where to put it now, there's no proper space for it. John tucks into his backside, reminding himself when he gets to chance to by a case for it. Then opens his wallet and scowls at the contents.

He'll have to walk to the bedsit, as he won't have enough for a cab ride to the bed sit, then to the storage, then back here.

Have to get a job at some point...

"Ready, then?"

John starts, and sees Sherlock at the door, coat and scarf already on.

"Come on, grab your wallet. We can get a cab to your bedsit, where you can take care of matters there, then get to the storage."

"You--you're going to come with me?"

Sherlock shrugs. "Might as well. You don't have enough for all the cab rides, I have some money that will help with that. I have no cases, nor anything to do at St Barts that is immediately pressing, and nothing else to do. Well that is, except to make sure my new flatmate gets settled." He flashes a grin. "Come on." Not waiting for a response, Sherlock leaves, and it takes John a few seconds to regain himself before trailing after Sherlock.

Soon he's in a cab with Sherlock, heading towards his soon to be former residence. And trying not to feel uneasy being in a cab, what with the last cab they dealt with turned out to be serial killer and all. But it was obviously not affecting Sherlock, so he wasn't going to let it affect him.

With Sherlock's attention on whatever is on his mobile, John checks his own mobile, and sees a couple messages from Harry.

The usual messages. They've been the same since she and Clara split up. No doubt she's completely loaded at the time. John has no wish to talk to his sister like that. Conversations end up yelling matches.

"The media has been informed of what has happened, and that the killer was found, but dead, by the time he was tracked down," Sherlock announces after about ten minutes of silence.

"Really? How do you know?"

"One of my contacts just sent me the rough draft of the briefing he was part of," Sherlock holds up his mobile and John reads what's written there.

"You have reporters for contacts?"

Sherlock smirks. "And others."

John doesn't ask for him to elaborate. He just files this away as part of the Sherlock Holmes section he created in his head. He has a strange feeling it's going to have a lot of information, very quickly.

"How are they explaining his death? I mean being shot and all."

"No idea, not my problem." Sherlock comments, sounding bored about it already, then glances at him. "You needn't worry though," he adds.

John took that for what it was. He was a little worried about his rashness, and while surprised he killed someone to protect the man next to him, someone he barely knew him, John also knew it was the only thing to do. Ultimately, the right thing to do.

"Are you mentioned? After all you helped."

"No, of course not."

John raises his eyebrows, and Sherlock glances back at him. "What?"

"Why not?"

Sherlock shrugs. "There's no need to mention me. Besides it'll hardly look good in the papers that I was brought in. I'm satisfied with helping, and the Yard has one less killer to worry about."

"But--" John protests, "but you helped, you contributed. You should get partial credit at least."

Sherlock shrugs. "I see no need."

John frowns. That's not right. As aggravating as Sherlock can be, and temperamental and a lot of other things John discovered over the course of twenty-four hours, the man is still brilliant. If it hadn't been for Sherlock, more people would have most likely died. He should get credit of some sort.

 _"John. You're a soldier. It's going to take some time to adjust to civilian life. And writing a blog of everything that happens to you will honestly help you."_

 _"Nothing happens to me."_

Well John can't say that anymore.

And right then and there, John decides when he has the time, he's going to write up the case.


	2. Part 2 Of The First Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's first day of living with Sherlock continues...

Chapter 2

 **Date: January 31st, 2010**

 **Time: 3:30 pm**

 **Location: Out In London  
**

It didn't take long to sort out the situation with the bed sit once John and Sherlock arrived. Of course John was not surprised Sherlock did not help with the packing. He had entered John's bed sit, looked around for all of fifteen seconds and then declared "Dull. Let me know when you're done," and walked out.

John figured Sherlock didn't go very far. He imagines the man can keep himself occupied deducing things about the other people who come and go from this building.

As he is packing his clothes, he catches sight of his calendar. And looks down to see that his next meeting with his therapist is tomorrow.

John sighs, and wonders if he can just cancel all his meetings, or... if he might continue to need them. Either way, he has something to talk about, Sherlock, when he sees her.

John packs his laptop in his other suitcase, properly protected, and grabs what ever else he can that he doesn't want to leave behind, as it'll save him from spending money he doesn't have. He picks the lighter suitcase up with his left arm, and has no trouble with the other suitcase.

He sets them down, and turns to shut off the light and close the door. He pauses however as he looks around the non personal, empty like room.

This is his last chance.

Tell Sherlock he changed his mind.

Unpack everything.

And stay.

Dull. Boring. Where nothing will ever happen to him.

His limp would definitely return.

And he would never have anything to write about.

And he wouldn't have to navigate literal possible minefields with an eccentric and mad flat-mate.

Just continue living a dull life.

 _I don't think so._

John turns the light off, and shuts the door, the feeling of one chapter in his life closing.

"Ready, then?"

John looks down the hall to see Sherlock walking towards him.

"Ready," John bends to pick up his suitcases, and joins Sherlock. "Have any fun?"

"Five alcoholics, three gamblers, a junkie live on the floor below you. An adulterer, a couple of university students, a pathological liar, and a recently divorced man live on what is formerly your level."

John's curiosity gets the best of him. "How did you know that?"

"Which part?"

"The last two," John supplies.

"I spoke to Bridget Passer for just two minutes. In those two minutes she told me she was a former rock star, now a private detective who just finished solving a breath-taking case where she was nearly killed three times and she just got out of the hospital with the latest attempt. Not to mention she is also wealthy. Considering there are no bruises on her skin from what she detailed of the last attempt, and her eyes are constantly shifting, plus the tell of her curling her hair around her finger, and the effort that each lie passes over her lips, plus the monitoring bracelet on her ankle, I doubt very much anything she said was the truth, although in her mind it certainly was."

It took John a minute for his head to catch up to Sherlock's words. He speaks so fast sometimes it's hard to keep up. He wonders if that's how the Detective Inspector feels sometimes. Every time Sherlock ran through his deductions during the case, he was talking a mile a minute, as if he couldn't contain the words. If he speaks like that, what must it be like in his head?

"And the divorced man?"

"Lines on his ring finger where his wedding ring used to be, looking quite stressed, and when I looked over his shoulder while he was going through his phone contacts, he deleted one name, a woman's name with two last names- hence her maiden name and her married name, which she had hyphenated. Divorce is recent too."

"Could be a widow," John comments as they stop by the lift.

Sherlock smiles. "Sentiment, John. If he was a widow, he would still have his wedding ring on, and he would not be deleting her from his contacts. Remember, sentiment. Like your mobile."

John flashes back to the conversation in the cab on the way to Lauriston Gardens, Sherlock telling him how he knew what he knew.

 _"Marriage in trouble, then - six months on, and already he's giving it away? If she'd left him, he would've kept it. People do, sentiment. But no, he wanted rid of it - he left her."_

"So he left her then?"

Another smile. "Yes. If she left him, he would still be wearing the ring and keeping her information. But since he left her, he must also have some financial troubles, since he's staying at a bed sit."

The lift opens on the lobby floor, and John remembers he has to talk to management, most likely pay a termination fee... "I have to take care of--"

"Already handled," Sherlock says abruptly.

"Wait- what?"

"Already handled. John have you woken up yet? You seemed to have no trouble following me yesterday, much better than most I might add."

At first the comment stings, but John forces it back, realizing that Sherlock was not insulting.. well sort of. He was just stating fact. But he was doing it in his own way. He pushes the sting away, knowing it was useless to feel that way.

"How has it been handled?" John asks as he follows Sherlock outside.

"Does it matter? It's been handled. All you have to do is pay the termination fee by the end of February and it will all be resolved. So one less task in your way, taking up your time to move in. Come on then, let's get a taxi, I doubt very much you want to carry those suitcases for long."

The taxi that Sherlock somehow manages to make appear, even though John swore he didn't see one at all, stops and the cabbie helps John with his suitcases as Sherlock gets in. A couple of minutes after John gets in, he gives the address to the cabbie and they are once more off.

"I was right," John murmurs, feeling a bit dazed now. "So was Mrs Hudson."

"About what?"

"Being around you is not going to be boring."

Sherlock chuckles, and looks up from his mobile, a genuine smile, like the one during their giggling fit after they chased the cabbie the other night, appears. "True. I have to say though, and this is rare mind you, you surprise me."

John raises an eyebrow. "I do?"

"Oh yes, and as I said, people do not generally surprise me. Oh now and then I'm off one thing, like with your sister, but in general I'm not surprised."

"So how have I surprised you?"

"You didn't gloat that I was wrong about the gender of Harry."

John shrugs. "You saw the name Harry. Not Harriet. Easy assumption to make."

"Assumptions are dangerous to make."

"In some cases," John agrees. "Any other way I surprise you?"

"You didn't tell me to piss off after our conversation in the cab."

Ah. Yes. Where Sherlock laid out so many facts about John that he had observed from a brief meeting with him at St Barts. Laid bare about his sister's drinking habits, the fact that he has a therapist and a psychosomatic limp... Truth be told, John was conflicted at what he was feeling at the time. Annoyed, upset, he was... but for some reason it didn't bother him after it sunk in. And truth be told it was brilliant. Even if he did feel a bit stripped at the time.

"Nor did you attempt to punch me, or end all contact with me. Plus, you willingly went with me to a crime scene, something ninety-nine percent of the world that are not police would do."

And John had complimented him twice during his deductions about Jennifer Wilson. He could tell then he surprised Sherlock. The first time, when Sherlock looked at him surprised before Lestrade took his attention. Then:

 _"That's fantastic."_

 _"You know you do that out loud?"_

 _"Sorry, I'll shut up."_

 _"No.. that's fine."_

Sherlock even sounded surprised and pleased. Admittedly, it was easier to like Sherlock's deductions, easier to admire how the man's mind worked, when it wasn't focused on him and on someone else.

"Plus add onto the fact that I ended up leaving you behind at said crime scene when I was looking for the pink case, ended up getting abducted by my brother, and still came to the flat when I texted you. Logically, most people would forget they ever knew me by the time they finished speaking with Mycroft."

All right, John could see that. If the prior things hadn't put them off, Mycroft Holmes would. And John only been in the man's presence for... what five minutes maybe? A little more, no more than ten he thinks.

"Then you willingly sent a text to a murderer, even though I sensed you wanted to hit me a couple of times--"

"I did," John admits,

Sherlock smiles. "And you continued to ruminate with me, making suggestions while I was thinking out loud--"

"Because Mrs Hudson took your skull," John interjected.

"Then went to Angelo's with me, and willingly got into a foot chase. Of course we all know what happened after that."

Yes, yes we do. A 'drugs bust', a revelation, Sherlock getting into a cab driven by a killer, Sherlock about to swallow that damn pill and John killing the cabbie, killing to save the life of a genius madman.

"And yet you are still willing to move in with me. Most people would say you are the insane one."

"Well I am seeing a therapist."

Sherlock chuckles, and oddly enough it sounds rough, like the two times he heard Sherlock laughing last night. The man obviously never laughed much.

"As I said, you surprised me."

"That's hard for you to admit isn't it?"

Another smile, this one a bit tight. "But I am."

"How much do you have in your storage?"

"Not a lot. About a dozen boxes. Won't take me long to unpack them either. Hopefully it'll fit in my soon to be bedroom."

"The upstairs bedroom is the larger one, so it should."

John blinks, and Sherlock raises an eyebrow. "Yes?"

"I would have expected you to take the larger bedroom."

"Hmm, really? Well, I didn't see the need for it. I don't sleep much, and when I do I tend to fall asleep on the sofa."

"How much sleep do you get?"

"No idea. While working a case? None, as I stated while we ate dim sum. When not working a case? Oh... a couple of hours here or there."

The doctor in John winces. "That's not good. Nor your eating habits."

"Oh dear."

"What?"

"Looks like I have a flat-mate that's going to harangue me about my sleeping and eating habits."

"You should take better care of yourself, since you're the world's only consulting detective." John wishes he could take back the words the moment he says them, knowing he's sounding like a nag.

"I take care of myself just fine, Doctor Watson," Sherlock drawls, but there's an underlying sentence there.

Don't push.

John wisely doesn't push.

"So do you really play the violin?"

"Yes. It was either learn to play an instrument or take up a sport," The disdain in the man's voice clearly shows John what Sherlock thinks of that. "Mycroft and I wisely took up learning an instrument."

John wonders what sort of instrument Mycroft plays.

"Any good?"

Sherlock's gaze meets his and smirks. "Very good."

Those two words makes John remember that brief conversation he and Sherlock had, before Sherlock asked him if he wanted to see some more trouble.

 _"You're a doctor. An army doctor."_

 _"Yes."_

 _"Any good?"_

 _"Very good."_


	3. Part 3 Of The First Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last part of the first day of living with Sherlock.

**Day Number One Continued**

**Date: January 31st**

 **Time: 4:15 pm**

 **Location: Storage**

 

"Ah, we're early, good." Sherlock steps out of the taxi, wrapping his coat around him. "Gives you enough time to get your storage open so the movers don't have to w--" Sherlock cuts himself off as his mobile buzzes, indicating a text.

John watches as Sherlock reads then responds back.

"Unfortunately, I cannot stay and keep you company though," Sherlock slips the phone back in his pocket. "Sorry, a matter needs to be attended to. I will of course make sure your suitcases get to the flat. I will see you later, John."

"Yeah, course," John murmurs, strangely feeling bereft moments later when Sherlock leaves in the taxi.

Everything seems.. quiet and still now.

It's like Sherlock took the noise with him. John preferred the noise. John turns and heads inside the lobby of the storage company, ignoring the bright yellow sign proclaiming the name.

"Can I help you, sir?" A woman asks as he enters.

"Ah yes, I need to get to my storage. I have a company coming to take it out."

"Right. Name please?"

"John Watson."

She nods and goes behind the counter to start typing on the keyboard. "Ah, found you. Just in time I suppose, your next payment was due in two days."

Ah well money saved. About time.

"Do you remember your space number?"

"Unfortunately no."

"Not a problem," she types some more into the computer, and then opens up a case, removing a key. "We have spare keys. Your on the first level, space number 6. Who are the movers that are coming? I'll let them know where to go."

"Allied Movers," he says quietly, and she nods. "Thanks."

"Your welcome, sir."

John nods, and heads towards his storage space. By the time he gets to it, the damn bloody limp is trying to come back in full force, so when he opens his locker and finds one container quite solid, he sits down.

The phantom ache starts to thrum, and John closes his eyes, letting the events of last night run through his mind once more. The more he remembers the running, the ache lessens.

 

 _"Come on John!"_

 _"This way! No, this way John!"_

 _"We're losing him!"_

 _"Welcome to London.."_

 _"Call us if you need anything."_

 _"Got your breath back?"_

 _"Ready when you are."_

The ache is gone, and John opens his eyes and then notices two men standing there. How long had he been sitting there?

"Apologies. A little tired." He stands, and smiles as his leg does not buckle, the memories of last night strengthening his leg once more.

He lets the men into the storage, so they can start getting his boxes.

 

***************************

 

John gets out of the taxi, as it pulls up to 221B Baker Street, the Allied Moving truck right in front of him, and pays the driver. As he gets out he checks his wallet once more, knowing he'll have to check his account and most likely take out a little more, and hoping he can.

John uses the door knocker, hoping maybe Sherlock would be in, but when the door opens it's Mrs Hudson.

"Hello dear. Oh yes, I should get you a key. Oh I see the moving men are here. Come on inside, Doctor Watson.. Sherlock isn't with you, I see."

"No, he had something that needed to be taken care of. So he's not back yet?" John gestures upstairs as the older woman searches her pockets.

"Oh I don't think so, I haven't heard anything. But then he can be quiet at times... Anyway, here's the key," she hands him the key, and then holds the door open as the men start to haul John's boxes in.

"Where to?"

"Come on," John heads up the stairs, the key feeling warm in his palm as he holds onto it.

It's about twenty minutes before all of John's boxes are in his bedroom, along with his two suitcases. Which Mrs Hudson had to bring out of her flat. Apparently Sherlock did drop them off, but just left them at the landing, apparently his mind was too preoccupied to bring them all the way up to the flat.

Could have been worse.

He could have just left them outside where anyone could have gotten their hands on them.

As John unpacks his suitcases, setting his laptop on the large bed that dominates the room, he absently wonders what Sherlock may be doing... who he may be annoying now, where he may be racing to.. if he needs help with anything.

Suddenly his phone buzzes. A text.

John takes it out and opens it.

 _All settled I hope. At the flat?_

 _SH_

It's like he knows if you're thinking about him.

John quickly responds.

 _Just got everything in._

 _And yes._

"Doctor Watson?"

John looks up after he sends it to see Mrs Hudson standing in the entrance. "Yes Mrs Hudson? And please, call me John."

"Of course. Let Sherlock know that I had the lease redrawn, as it's needed with you moving in. Both of you need to resign it.. well Sherlock needs to sign it anyway. He didn't sign the original one."

"How long had he been living here before I came?" John queries curiously. When John first saw the place, he thought what he was seeing was rubbish from prior tenants until he heard Sherlock saying he went ahead and moved in.

"Oh he hadn't moved in properly by the time he brought you around, but he had agreed to move in about.. oh four days before. Somehow he managed to move in all this things without me seeing him. He's quite good at that, being quiet and stealthy. Of course makes it difficult for me to pin him down to sign the lease," she adds with a frown, but there is fondness in her words.

John realizes then, even when she's disapproving, like when Sherlock was happy about another serial suicide, she was still fond.

"Did he tell you how we met?"

"He uh.. mentioned, well he said he ensured your husband's execution," John says quickly.

"Oh yes, he did. Good thing too, otherwise he would have been freed. Nasty business, but I'm won't hash it all out. But Sherlock's such a dear.. he's exasperating yes, and of course temperamental, but he's a genius too, and all genius's are like that I think. He just needs someone to fuss on him, even if he ignores it half the time."

Such vastly different opinions of Sherlock.

Lestrade, in John's brief acquaintance of the man, seems weary, resigned about Sherlock. Hoping that Sherlock will be a good man one day, who will eventually out grow his apparently child like temper and attitude.

Sgt Sally Donovan, hostile. Refusing to see what Lestrade see's. Thinks Sherlock will one day be a killer, thinks he's a psycho path.

Mrs Hudson... Thinking he's a dear, believing him to be worth fussing over, fond of him, even when Sherlock snapped at her last night, not caring about his eccentricities.

Angelo... grateful. Willing to go to prison for the man. Not letting Sherlock pay for the meal.

How can one man bring out such different opinions in so many people?

And here he is, another one of those people.

And John's not entirely sure what his opinion of Sherlock is yet. It keeps changing.

"Well, I'm going to make some tea, again please remind Sherlock about the lease. I'm very glad you decided to stay Doctor Watson, I mean John," Mrs Hudson smiles widely. "And I'm very sure Sherlock is too."

John just smiles, and then turns his attention back to his phone. No return message from Sherlock. He sends another one though.

 _Mrs Hudson had the lease redrawn. We need to sign it. Both of us.  
JH_

He sends it, and then rips open one box, revealing books, and some pictures. The one on top is of Harry and Clara.

Clara.

John reminds himself to look up Clara, to talk to her. He hasn't since Harry told him they were getting a divorce. He liked Clara, the few times he spent time with her. It was a pity Harry didn't know what she was losing.

John's phone buzzes, interrupting his train of thought and he looks down at the message.

 _Boring._

 _SH._

Well, looks like this is going to be the first hurdle John is going to have to go through with his new flatmate.

 _It needs to be done Sherlock._

 _JW_

He gets another response seconds later.

 _Not interesting. You can sign for both of us._

 _SH_

John lets out a short laugh, not surprised at this at all.

 _I can't. Not legal. It won't take long. It won't hurt._

 _JW_

He's arguing with a madman over texts. About signing a lease.

 _Don't care. Busy._

 _SH_

John just stares at the text for a moment.

 _Busy with what?_

 _JW_

It's a couple minutes later when he gets a response.

 _Finish unpacking. Or you will never get it done._

 _SH_

John takes the hint, he'll corner Sherlock face to face about the lease.

 

***************************

 

It's around six when Sherlock finally reappears. John had been sitting in the chair, debating about going through the channels to find something on the telly, when Sherlock's presence is heard, and then finally scene as the man does his burst like entrance. He doesn't seem to simply walk into a room, he makes an entrance.

Looking a little flushed as if he had been running, then gives John the barest of glances as he goes into the kitchen. John leans to his right to see what Sherlock may be doing and notices he puts something in the fridge, and then checks a beaker that has... red liquid in it.

He hears Sherlock mutter something, not sounding happy apparently about the color of the liquid.

"Everything all right?" John asks.

"Hmm? What, oh.. I suppose. Not going the way I expected, but perhaps it needs longer..." Sherlock comes back into the sitting room, taking a seat in another chair, checking his mobile as he does and then turns on his laptop.

"Your matter get taken care of?"

"Yes, of course. Didn't take too long. Finished unpacking?"

"Yes." John stands and then drops the lease that Mrs Hudson had him look over once he finished unpacking, in front of Sherlock. He signed it, thinking the terms were fair.

"And this is?"

"The lease."

Sherlock huffs. "Dull."

"But necessary. You had to sign leases at all the other places you lived in."

"Yes, and a waste of time as always. I read it, then I'm stuck with what is written in my head for days on end before I eventually can get rid of it."

"Well for Mrs Hudson's sake at least, read the lease and sign it."

"You're not going to let up on this are you?"

"Nope."

Sherlock scowls, and then sighs. "Very well then," he says, and of all things, sulks, literally sulks while reading the pages of the lease the that was drawn up.

A couple minutes later, it's signed and Sherlock shoves it towards him. "There, everything taken care of. All nicely legal."

"Such a shame," John says dryly, earning another smile.


	4. February 1st, Day 2 and 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second day of living with Sherlock. Like yesterday, John continues to learn more about his eccentric flatmate. The third day is also part of the chapter as well.

  
**Date: February 1st, Day 2**

 **Location: Therapy**

 **Time: 1:30 pm**

 

"What has changed in your life John?"

John looks at Ella, his therapist and so many different thoughts pop up into his head.

 _I moved in with a man that calls himself a high functioning sociopath._

Although now that he's had time to think about that claim, John's not sure if that is true.

 _I moved in with a man that seems to be able to see everything, and see right through people in a matter of seconds._

John wonders how Sherlock developed that skill. That ability.

 _I shot a man to protect someone I only knew for a day. And I don't feel upset about it._

John remembers the conversation with Sherlock, after the man got himself away from Lestrade.

 _"Are you all right?"_

 _"Yes of course."_

 _"Well you have just killed a man."_

 _"Yes... that's true... but he wasn't a very nice man."_

 _"No... no, he wasn't really, was he?_

 _"No, frankly, a bloody awful cabbie."_

John clears his throat, pushing down the urge to giggle again as the image of that conversation plays out. Be inappropriate to laugh now. It was inappropriate to laugh then..

Far too much has happened to tell her.

"I'm not sure where to begin with that," He finally decides to say, sounding a bit bewildered to his own ears.

She smiles. "First, how about your leg?"

"Hmm?"

"You walked without a problem, and with the cane. What happened?"

"Mind over matter," John says, not sure how to explain it to Ella. He thought about mentioning Sherlock and what happened since he met him, but the moment he sat down, he wasn't so sure about that now.

"You're evading, John."

True. "It's a bit complicated."

"All right. Anything else?"

"I moved out of the bedsit. Moved in with someone yesterday."

"Good. A veteran like yourself?"

"No, no. He was not in the military. A former school friend, Mike Stamford, introduced me to him. He was at St Barts..." That reminds John to find out what Sherlock does there. He's not a doctor... and yet he somehow has access to a lab there. Maybe he got his degree in medical research?

So many questions....

"He's a bit eccentric," John blurts out despite himself, "but it's good. I don't mind. He's different from anyone else I have ever known."

"Different can be good. So some definite change then?"

"Definite change."

 

  
**Location: 221B Baker Street**

 **Time: 4:21 pm**

 

"Doctor Watson."

John looks up from his laptop to see Mrs Hudson coming into the flat with a couple bags from Tesco.

"John please," he reminds her again. She just smiles.

"Sherlock not in?"

John shakes his head. "I saw him briefly around nine this morning though."

"All right then. Anyways, I'll put these away. I ended up buying some food from Tesco's for the both of you. I doubt there's a scrap of food in here. Sherlock only seems to eat takeaway, and that's when he does eat," she sound so exasperated there.

John grins and watches her go into the kitchen. Despite her protest of "I'm your landlady, not your housekeeper," it looks like the woman can't help herself.

"But there needs to be food in here now, with you here."

"I'll do some food shopping in a bit Mrs Hudson, but thank you." John's stomach starts to growl then.

"Still such a mess," he hears her murmur. "It's always the brilliant ones mind you, they seem to love clutter."

John looks around the flat again. The cow skull on the wall with the headphones... the butterfly display, the several boxes with papers and such in it, bookcases filled with books.. he'll have to bring his books down as there seems to be some room for his. It'll give him some more space in the bedroom.

"Oh hello Detective Inspector," he hears Mrs Hudson greet, and John turns around in his chair to see the gray haired Detective in the doorway. The man gives Mrs Hudson a brief smile, and then focuses on John.

"Doctor Watson.. correct?"

John nods.

"Ah good. So I missed Sherlock have I?"

"He hasn't been in since around nine."

"Probably off somewhere, irritating someone," the Detective mutters.

"Can I help you with anything?" John asks politely. "Or do you have another case that you need Sherlock's help with?"

"Oh thank god, no, no case." The DI reaches inside his coat pocket, as he comes further inside, and hands John a piece of paper. When he gets a good look at it, he sees it's a cheque for £300. And he sees Sherlock's name as the recipient.

"I suppose I should add your name on here as well, as he brought you in on it," the DI muses. "Maybe with you, it won't get sent back to us or tossed out."

John frowns. "I thought he wasn't paid for his consulting."

"Who told you that?"

"Sgt Donovan."

 _"You know why he does this? He doesn't get paid or anything..."_

"Ah well, he doesn't do it for the money, correct. But we still have to pay him," DI Lestrade says, sounding a bit grumpy. "He normally just sends it back to us or never cashes it."

"Ah, well I can hold onto it, but you don't have to make it out to me, just keep Sherlock's name on it."

"Nonsense. You might as well, he brought you along, you were involved, you helped," Lestrade insists as John's name is also. John tries to protest, but he's cut off once more. "Trust me, you helped, Sherlock that is. Take it."

John gives up the protest, knowing it's useless now. "All right."

The DI exhales. "Good. So you are moving in?"

"Moved in yesterday."

"Ah, good. Glad I didn't cost him a flatmate then. You seem sensible enough, he needs a little sensibility in his life. Anyways, I'm off. Good to see you again Doctor Watson."

John chuckles at the sensible part, but then frowns. He twists in his chair again "What do you mean you're glad you didn't cost him a flatmate?"

The DI stops at the stairs and turns around. "Oh, I suppose most people who turn and run if they witnessed the police doing a drugs bust in the flat of someone they might be moving in with. A bit extreme I know, but as I said to him that night, I knew he'd find the case and not let me know."

 _"You can't just break into my flat."_

 _"And you can't withhold evidence. And I didn't break in to your flat."_

 _"Well what do you call this then?"_

 _"It's a drugs bust."_

John remembers that quite clearly. He also remembers feeling disappointed, as the rest of the conversation revealed that Sherlock apparently did do some recreational drugs at some point even with his vehement "I am clean!" protest.

John doesn't doubt the clean part. He's a doctor. He's seen plenty of people high while in Afghanistan. What it can do to a body and mind. While Sherlock is quite skinny, he's clean.

"Sorry about that by the way."

"Hmm, oh yes, no worries. Well um, will I have to worry about any more drugs busts?"

The DI smiles. "Only if he withholds evidence from us."

Right. Looks like that's something John is going to have to keep an eye on.. that is if Sherlock brings him onto any more cases. The one with Jennifer Wilson may have been a one off.

 

  
**Location: 221B Baker St**

 **Time: 10 pm**

 

"You can cash it."

"Maybe split it? I shouldn't take all of it."

Sherlock doesn't look up from the book he's reading on the couch. "Not interested. Lestrade put your name on it, I can endorse it so you can cash it for your account. But I don't need any of it."

John blinks. "I don't feel---"

"It doesn't matter, John," Sherlock says sharply. "I don't do this to be paid. I do it for the challenge. Of course the idiots at the Yard don't seem to understand it."

"You won't take credit publicly for helping, nor you will take credit financially?" John tries to wrap his head around this. Sherlock came back to the flat about ten minutes ago, and pretty much flat out refused to have any part in the cheque.

"I'm not interested in credit. I'm interested in cases, interesting and challenging ones, that keep me from being bored, and in my experiments and research. Oh that reminds me, need to see if the brother was arrested or not." Sherlock sets the book down and takes out his mobile.

"Brother?"

"A prior case I was working on before the taxi case. Remember? You let me use your mobile to send a text."

 _"Here, use mine."_

 _"Oh...thank you."_

Just a simple thing... that quickly turned into an adventure.

 

  
**Location: 221B Baker St**

 **Date: February 3rd, Day 3**

 **Time: 1:15 pm**

 

"Wait.. what?"

"What?"

John shakes his head. "What do you mean you don't know who the Prime Minister is?"

Sherlock's attention doesn't move from his laptop. "I don't know."

"How?"

"Not important."

John shakes his head. "How is that not important? He runs the country."

"Dull."

"Dull?"

"Exactly. Not important to know."

"Yet you have three books on the subject of superstitions."

"That was research. Needed to know about superstitions. I had to buy the books because the internet was not giving me the proper data."

"A case I imagine?"

"Yes, the one I had solved when we met."

"Care to tell me about it? Something to do with a green ladder right?" John asks, as he recalls the text he read that Sherlock sent when he got back to the bedsit.

Sherlock pauses in his typing and glances over. "You want to know?"

"Yes."

"I have it on the website." He offers.

"But I'm not on my laptop, and you are here. Might as well tell me."

Sherlock looks a bit surprised, and John wonders if anyone has ever asked him to tell him about his cases.

"All right." Sherlock pushes his laptop away. "Pay attention now."

As Sherlock launches into the case, John settles in his seat, paying attention and listening closely.

 

  
**Location: 221B Baker Street**

 **Time: 5 pm**

 

"Why do people post anonymously?"

John glances up from the pan on the stove. After hearing about a couple other cases that Sherlock had, hunger finally got to him. He found some fish, with some help from a good Mrs Hudson, got some lemon and lime and seasonings. Since Sherlock insisted he take the money, he can go to Tesco's to buy some things.

He has a distinct feeling though once he does, that's going to be his job here for now on.

"What?"

"My website," Sherlock sounds annoyed. "Someone posted a couple anonymous messages and some ridiculous hidden message."

"Solved it yet?"

"Not interested. Dull. Boring. I created a new page for the website and put it up there. Anyone else can decipher it if they want."

"Hey Sherlock, you're not allergic to anything are you?"

"What, oh, nothing I'm aware of. Stupid Anonymous...He's been posting here for a while. One day we will meet... Lame. If I have to have a web stalker, can't it be someone with imagination?"

"Not everyone can be you, Sherlock," John murmurs as he turns the fish over.

"Pity."

"You would be out of a job then."

"Oh.. well then, I suppose it's good then, even if I do have to deal with a world with idiots."

"The sacrifices one has to make."

John smiles as he heard Sherlock laugh at that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author's Note: I did some research, and consultants do get paid... so I did a rough guess on how much Sherlock would get paid, and figured that with how he is, he'd ignore the check, toss it, or send it back. And also checked to make sure two names can be put on the check.**


	5. February 3rd- Day 4

**Date: February 3rd- Day 4**

 **Time: In the afternoon, not quite sure**

 **Location: London, Coffee Shop**

 

"So you're still living with him then?"

John nods as the waitress sets down the biscuits they ordered, and takes a sip from his tea. Mike Stamford had called him, haven gotten his mobile number from Sherlock apparently, and asked if he wanted to get together for some tea.

John had nothing pressing to do. At the time he was reading about some of Sherlock's cases, and ignoring Harry's calls, and trying to figure out how to put the case with the cabbie into words on his blog.

John mentally twitches. Blog.

Maybe he should just get a journal and write in that instead...

"Well, glad it's working out. Sherlock's not an easy person to get along with in passing, I doubt he'd be easy to live with."

"So far.. no problems."

"Hasn't played the violin at two am yet has he?" Mike asks with a smirk.

"This morning, yes. But he warned me about that." Just not the fact that he plays at two am...

John hadn't been sleeping well last night.. nightmares, Afghanistan... It was too quiet, the flat was that is. Sherlock had skipped out around eight, and John just watched some telly before kipping off to bed.

Then he remembered waking up, stifling back shouts as the war receded from his mind. He heard noise downstairs, and knew without a doubt Sherlock must have heard his moans at least before he woke up.

Yes, excellent flatmate material he is, with PTSD and nightmares that will keep anyone awake.

John couldn't bring himself to go back to sleep, not wanting Sherlock to hear him have more nightmares, but then he heard the violin playing. And he knew at that time Sherlock was not exaggerating about his skill with the violin. The soothing music had helped calmed his mind, and somehow John was able to get back to sleep, this time with no nightmares.

Whatever problem that plagued Sherlock inadvertently helped John.

"So has he had a lot of flatmates before?" John asks curiously.

"I don't know. I just know he was muttering about breaking down and getting a flatmate. I asked him about it at the time, and he said that the place he was eying was a good place, but in able to afford he would need a flatmate. He sounded quite put out about the whole thing. Of course Doctor Rhyse didn't help matters."

"Doctor Rhyse?"

"One of the trainers. Sherlock and I were in cafeteria when we were talking. Rhyse and Sherlock don't get on, not since Sherlock told him his wife was having an affair with the postman, and how his life apparently was quite the cliche." Mike grins. "Then again not many liked Rhyse, so they saw this as just desserts."

John shakes his head, taking another sip. Sounds like Sherlock though. He's only lived with him for four days now, but he's getting a feel of the man. "What did Rhyse say?"

"Said that no one in their right minds would live with someone like him. Sherlock just took it face value, then told Rhyse that he needed to keep an eye on his daughter. I won't get int all of that, but later Sherlock admitted he knew he would be a difficult person to live with, and that it would have to take someone incredibly patient and tolerant to do so."

"That would definitely be the truth," John murmurs.

"Next thing I know, a couple hours later, you're walking right on by me."

 _"Come on, who would want me for a flatmate."_

 _"You're the second person to say that to me today."_

 _"Who was the first?"_

"And the rest is history."

Mike chuckles. "Indeed. So you are getting on then?"

"Reasonably. He's quite the character... something new every day, and I'm not bored."

"I believe you on that."

"So, tell me, how does Sherlock have access to the labs in St Barts?" John asks curiously. "It's obvious he doesn't work for St Barts."

"No, no he doesn't. And I'm not sure how... all I know is that some sort of arrangement was made, with the head of Research. He's been there.. oh for three years now, I think."

"You two seem to get on all right."

"He seems to tolerate me, more so than the others," Mike admits. "Then again, I treat him with respect and I don't feel threatened by him. I'm perfectly comfortable with how I am, and he knows it, so he doesn't go out of his way to point things out about me."

"Unlike with Doctor Rhyse," John murmurs, or with Sgt Donovan and Anderson...

"Correct." Mike looks at his watch. "Nor do I have a crush on him, like poor Molly Hooper and so many other girls there that try without any luck to get his attention."

John briefly remembers the young lady that came into the research lab to hand Sherlock coffee. Something about lipstick..

"Crush on him does she?"

"Oh yes. Horrible one. And he knows it I think.. it's how he's able to get what he needs from the morgue."

Okay, John can see where the word sociopath can come in now. But.. it seems like he has tendencies towards a sociopath nature, but not quite there.

Although why John is hung up on this, he has no idea. He's been bothered by Sherlock's diagnosis, but it's not his place to question it really, since he's not a psychologist.

"Blast," John hears Mike mutter and notices the man checking his watch. "Best be off. Thanks for coming by. Good to see you again."

"Good to see you."

 

**Location: 221B Baker Street**

 **Time: Evening, around 7 pm.**

 

John turns down the volume, silencing the shouting people, as he hears familiar footsteps. Only a few days living together and John has come to recognize Sherlock's footsteps.

"Hello," Sherlock greets, as he comes in. "Anything fascinating on the telly?"

"Jeremy Kyle."

"Ugh, boring," he mutters.

"Not much else on," John admits. "And couldn't decide what else to do." He had stalled on his writing of the taxi case, and decided to put it off lest he get frustrated and decide not to write it.

Sherlock goes into the kitchen, opening the fridge. "Beer?"

"Bought a couple."

"Hmm."

"What?"

"With an alcoholic for a sister, I would think you would shy away from alcohol."

John does his best not to clench his jaw at the mention of Harry.

He's just commenting.

Just commenting.

"I don't drink often, no. And I stay away from the heavy stuff."

Sherlock turns around. "I touched a nerve."

"Yeah."

He comes back into the room, and once again those cool blue eyes are raking over him, coming to whatever conclusions that pop up. The slender man frowns. "Mentioning your sister.. not good?"

John exhales. No point in getting upset. Not when he confirmed it at Lauriston Gardens. "Sorry, don't mean to be tetchy."

"You talked to her today."

"How...?"

"Your hand is shaking, and you're rubbing your leg... plus you're more irritable about the mention of her, when you were quite calm when I first deduced about your sibling."

John stares at the man, and then shakes his head. "Well, you were right. I did talk to her. If you call a five minute conversation being yelled at as talking."

"Drunk?"

"Halfway there."

Sherlock nods. "Change your number then?"

"That's your solution?"

Sherlock shrugs. "Only logical one I can think of. Change your number, she can't get a hold of you to yell at you. She'll learn to call when sober."

"Change your number a lot have you?"

"To avoid Mycroft?" Sherlock says, the disdain for his brother clear. "No point. He finds it out anyway."

"Suppose it's hard to hide from a man that can control CCTV."

"Understatement. Although don't you love his idea of concern for my well being?"

"It's a bit.. startling, yes."

"You're not the first you know."

"First person he kidnapped?"

Sherlock drops into a chair, turning on his laptop. "In regards to me. Lestrade doesn't know who he is, but he got abducted.. About a day after we met when I solved a case for him. Told me the next time we met that if he ever gets abducted again because of our association he was going to arrest me on accessory charges."

"They wouldn't stick."

"That's what I told him. He didn't care for it."

"No, I imagine not."

"How did your tea with Stamford go?"

The man changes subjects as quickly as one takes a breath. John doesn't bother to find out how he knew.

"Fine. Wanted to see if I was still living here, or if you driven me out."

Sherlock chuckles.

"Have you had any prior flatmates before?"

"I have had three all together. Longest one I had was six months, and that was because he was a flight attendant and hardly ever here. So technically we were flatmates for all of two weeks."

"What sent him packing?"

"He found a liver in the fridge."

"What, no eyeballs in the microwave?"

Sherlock smirks. "No."

"I found a couple fingers though," John says, figuring he might as well get it out of the way now. "Not sure what the liquid was. Left it alone."

"Good. It needs to stay that way for two more days before I check the results."

"Is this going to happen often?"

"Is what?" Sherlock asks as he types an address in Google.

"Am I going to be finding body parts in the fridge often?"

"You'll also be finding them in the freezer."

"Sherlock."

"What? Oh don't worry, I'll make sure they won't contaminate anything. But yes, I tend to bring home body parts for tests when I can't stay at the lab any longer."

John takes a breath. "All right."

"Is that going to be a problem? You're a doctor, you shouldn't be affected by body parts."

John's tempted to smack upside the head. "I'm more worried about them being in the bloody fridge."

"As I said, I take the proper precautions."

"Good. Oh there's some Bangers and Mash left over in the microwave."

"Leaving food for me now?"

"At least eat it Sherlock."

"Later."

John drops it there, figuring that he at least got some non committal answer about eating. He then decides to get an answer to a question Stamford didn't know.

"How did you get access to the labs in St Barts? And permission to get body parts from the morgue and such?"

"Who said I had permission?"

"You would have to get it, Sherlock. Otherwise you would have been banned from the premises at some point."

Sherlock grins and John sees amusement in his blue eyes. "Well, in the beginning I didn't have permission, and I was illegally using the lab. Didn't have access to the morgue at the time, and couldn't break into it to get access. But that changed about a month after I officially became a consulting detective."

"What happened?"

"The Head of Research caught me illegally using the lab, threatened to have me arrested. I gave her the number to Lestrade, and she locked me in her office while she called him from another. She apparently didn't want me to overhear. I took advantage."

"You snooped?"

"I snooped. She used my mobile to call Lestrade, so I found hers on her desk. Also I hacked into her computer. Found out through some emails, texts, and a couple of quick calls, she was paying a lot of money to have her husband followed. According to the emails and the quick chat I had with the private investigator she hired, she was convinced her husband was stealing from her and cheating on her, but couldn't prove it."

"What did you do?"

"When she came back in, having calmed down a bit after Lestrade talked to her, I offered her my services. I offered to get her the proof she needed, in exchange for getting permission to have access to St Barts."

John finds himself amazed at all this. The presumption, the nerves, the gall. All Sherlock.

"Did she take it?"

Sherlock grins, pride coming off him in waves. "Of course. She was intelligent enough to see that her incompetent PI was getting nowhere. It was obvious the husband was paying the PI to also not find anything. I found payments in his bank accounts traced back to the husband. Not only did I find the proof of him stealing thousands of dollars from his wife, I found undeniable proof of him cheating on her, with multiple women, plus add on the prize on top- he was also doing drugs. With that evidence in hand, she was able to divorce her husband and have the prenup nullified, so she wouldn't lose anything by divorcing him. I kept my end of the deal ,and so did she. A research lab of my own, and access to the morgue."

"Amazing. I mean seriously, amazing."

"Have to admit, a bit disappointed though. It was a lot more fun getting in illegally."

John bursts out laughing.


End file.
